Sometime Around Midnight
by ForTheWretched
Summary: My first Chess Fic. NEWLY EDITED! A NEW NAME! Please read and or review. I would be much appreciated!


**Look! It's edited!! I know, terribly exciting. I re-read this today and noticed it needed some sprucing up. It also has a new name, named after the Airborn Toxic Event song, **_**Sometime Around Midnight**_**. Excellent song, matches the story so well! I recommend it. Well, enjoy! **

When the two first started being together, he had been harsh, passionate, and as impulsive in love as he was on the board. She remembered their first kiss; soft at first, hesitant, but there was a hunger burning in him that she could feel…building in him until he wrapped his arms around her and drew her onto his bed. His passion amazed her; it was what drew her in, his dangerous genius always keeping her on her toes. Her heart leapt in her throat when she watched him play after that first night, it reminded her what lurked beneath the surface. She was in awe of him those first few years, stood by him while he rose to the top, defended his ridiculous behavior, and loved him always.

He was not the perfect lover by any means; there were no small romantic gestures, no leaning heads together, no holding hands or showing affection in public, almost no romance. He was prone to childish behavior, picking fights over nothing. His eyes would follow other women around the room, tempting her to be jealous. She never was. She knew better than to give him that satisfaction. In return he regarded her as his constant, always there and always supportive. He loved her in his way, with all his heart, the best he could.

Yet he had changed. Fame and money went to his head, convincing him that he could treat everyone around him like dirt, thinking he could through his lover around like a ragdoll and she would always come crawling back. She had, time after time, forgiven him his trespasses and the pain he had inflicted on her. But it was one time to many. She finally saw she had to get out, before he broke her once and for all.

Her new lover was kind, romantic and loving. She tried to convince herself that she had escaped with him for love, yet she knew that it was an affair of convenience. Both of them were running from something, just happening to find sanctuary in one another's arms. She had fallen in love with him, yes, yet had to let him go. He wasn't hers in the first place. She watched him walk out of her life leaving her alone, confused and back where she started. She was nothing but a scared, orphaned child.

Florence reflected on all this in her quiet apartment in London, her hand resting on her phone, paused halfway to making the call. Freddie's new phone number was scribbled on a piece of paper crumpled in her lap and she stared at it, unseeing. She needn't look at it; the numbers had been seared into her mind from countless almost-made phone calls. Florence wanted to call him, _needed_ to call him, if just to hear his voice again and know that something was left of a time long forgotten. But what would he say? Would he be the same man, the one who goaded her again and again until she had been driven away? Would he even talk to her, or shout insults, or mock her and proclaim he had been right that she would come back? Or, she hoped with all her heart, would he be _her_ Freddie again, the man-child who had stolen her heart years ago? Florence steeled herself and picked up the phone.

The phone rang five, six, seven times. No one picked up.

_Maybe the number's wrong,_ Florence thought, _or he's probably out_. She swallowed her disappointment and began to hang up when the line clicked on. She held her breath.

"Hello?"

It was his voice, the same, with that damned annoying American accent. Florence smiled despite herself.

"Freddie? It's…um, it's Florence. I just wanted to…err…say hello."

The was a pause which seemed to last hours. Florence cursed her stupidity. Why had she thought he'd want to talk to her after all-

"H- Hi. Florence. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm well. Thanks. I just had your number, remember you gave it to me when…just thought I'd see how you were. So. How are you?"

_You sound like an idiot_, she chastised herself._Here I am ,37 years old babbling on like a stupid school girl? Get back on the ball Florence!_ Freddie's voice interrupted her.

"I'm ok. Working for that damned T. V. company, ya know, for Walter. But hey it pays the bills. Quite well, if I do say so myself," He laughed. She remembered that laugh…

"Still living in New York?" she asked.

"Yeah. Got a new place, though. It's pretty nice. And how 'bout you? Back in London?"

"Yes. I moved back into my apartment. I went to Hungary for a while after Ban- …there was nothing there for me. I couldn't find anything. So I came back here. I mean, at least I know people, places here. You know." _Well that's just the picture of subtlety Flo._

She cut herself off before anything else could escape from her lips. Surprisingly, Freddie's reply carried a tone of sympathy.

"I…I'm sorry Flo. I didn't know that Walter would…he told me they'd found him, your father. I tried to help, ya know. Really."

Did he? Did he really mean what he had said when he'd attempted to get her to take the deal? Despite the blinking red lettered sign in her head that told her not to listen to him…it was different. In her heart, Florence believed he had wanted to help her.

"I know." She said. "I know."

A silence spread between them, peaceful. It was as if the two had shared some kind of secret, a silent embrace, an apology. There was nothing left to say on the subject.

"So," Florence started, "Tell me all about working for Walter." Freddie groaned. "God. Well let me tell you about today…."

They bean talking for hours almost every night after that. It was almost like it had been in the beginning, only there was a new kind of understanding between them, as well as the memories they shared hiding behind a dark curtain. Florence had finally opened up one night, telling Freddie everything about Anatoly; about the safety she felt with him and the pain when he left her. In return he tried to explain how her abandonment had affected him. He hadn't needed to explain it so much, she could tell. He was changed somehow, more mature; he was less childish, more aware of what was going on around him. His cynicism had given way to a sort of acceptance. His obsessive genius still remained, and Florence could sense that the fire she had loved so dearly was still there, waiting. She found herself yearning to see him, to be near him again. One cold night toward the close of November, Freddie had news.

"Oh, God, I almost completely forgot to tell you!" He had exclaimed with enthusiasm, interrupting Florence's recount of her boring day. "The company has some sort of shindig planned in London over Christmas they want me to cover. So…looks like I'll be spending Christmas with you!" Her heart jumped into her throat.

"Wonderful!" She responded. "I…can't wait to see you, Freddie."

"Me too, Flo. So, my flight gets in around four o'clock on the 20th. I was thinking we could go to dinner…"

On the 20th of December in the midst of the early winter rain, at 6:30 pm, Florence was waiting at a table for two in the disgustingly hip restaurant Freddie had suggested. She felt out of place, too old for all the barley dressed couples grinding against each other to the synthesized music. One girl, garbed in a glittery silver dress, swished passed her and raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow to Florence's sensible black dress and tights. _Hurry up will you_, she thought fiercely. As if on cue, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Freddie stood behind her, dripping wet and smiling sarcastically.

"No one told me it was going to rain tonight," he said by way of greeting. Florence fought to keep her face emotionless.

"This is London, dear. It does nothing _but _rain." Despite herself she laughed with him. He removed his overcoat, draping it unceremoniously over a chair.

"Hey, Florrie." They embraced an embraced that lasted a little longer than necessary but neither pulled away. He smelled the same as always, Florence noticed, of cigarette smoke and a hint of cologne. Freddie also observed that Florence hadn't changed; her hair still smelled of lavender shampoo and her skin was still the softest thing he had ever felt. He felt a pang of disappointment when she pulled away.

"Excellent choice of setting, Freddie, I must say." She said coyly, gesturing to their neon surroundings.

"Right. This is disgusting, last time I take suggestions from an intern. Let's leave."

The two escaped the restaurant for the sanctuary of a calm café near Florence's building. The interior was covered with sparkling garlands and grinning elves (Which Florence found unnerving, she had never been a holiday person. Last Christmas had gone by unnoticed, as Anatoly expressed no interest in celebrating it. Nonetheless, it was pleasant to have someone to spend it with.) After various cups of coffee and dirty looks from the waitress who expressly wished to close up shop, they strolled along the wet streets, Freddie's arm slipping around her waist. She didn't pull away. When at last they reached her apartment building, Florence knew the time had come to part, and yet she felt the urge to keep him with her. Yes, yes, she knew what she was doing, letting herself be drawn back in…and who was to say it wouldn't be worse than before? Still…

"You haven't seen my new apartment have you?" The words were out of her lips before she knew what she was doing. Freddie fought back a laugh. He knew her too well, knew what she was doing. And it was perfect. He hadn't wanted to leave either. She was too beautiful, just like always, and he wanted her back. He wanted to show her he was not willing to lose her again.

Her apartment was nice, befitting. Coordinated and businesslike, but filled with her warmth. Freddie took a seat on the couch while Florence put their coats up to dry. His eyes fell upon the row of pictures on the mantle. A teenage Florence in a black cap and gown, locking arms with two smiling girlfriends. Another from the same day, an older man Freddie recognized as her adoptive guardian with his arm her shoulder. Florence shaking hands with the arbiter after winning her first professional match. Florence smiling out from the frame with a puppy in her arms ( Freddie remembered that dog, a small cocker spaniel she had adopted soon after she became his second.) and lastly, an old, frayed photograph of a man and a woman, the woman holding a gurgling baby on her lap. Freddie moved closer and picked up the photograph, looking at it quizzically. The woman bore a strong resemblance to Florence, had the same dark hair and pale skin, but the man had her eyes, exactly the same shape and color.

"My parents." Florence said dryly. Freddie whirled around, still holding the picture. He felt slightly guilty, like a child caught playing where he shouldn't. She stepped forward and took the picture from him, setting it back on the mantle without a glance.

"It showed up in the mail one day, inexplicably. No return address. I have no idea who would have sent it." She drew a shallow breath. "But I have feeling it was Walter. Perhaps he was _kind_ enough to give me this at least, since he couldn't give me my father in person."

Florence could feel all her long suppressed emotion bubbling up. She hadn't allowed herself one morbid reverie sense she returned to London…yet it was as if having Freddie here with her made everything that had happened no longer a bad dream, made it all real. She lowered herself onto the couch, her head in her hands.

"No, no, Florence don't cry." Freddie sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder. "I'm sorry," She chocked out, "It's just…" His kiss cut her off, soft and reassuring. A thousand thoughts flew through Florence's head at once. No, this wasn't what she wanted. Wasn't it? She didn't want to let herself be drawn back down to their vicious cycle, this back and forth between love and hate. Yet his arms were warm, his kiss was gentle, and she was tired, worn down. There was something different about him; something new. He was familiar and unknown at the same time. Maybe it was going to be better with him. Maybe he- Florence's eyes flew open as Freddie suddenly pulled away. "God, Florence, I love you. I never stopped loving you. I was so damn stupid to let you walk away. You were the best thing that ever happened to me and I took you for granted. I was nothing but a damn selfish kid. Please, you have to know I love you." His gaze burned into her, she could see the passion dancing in his eyes. "Freddie." She started, "I love you too." It was all he needed, the words he had waited so long to hear. His lips met hers fiercely and she wrapped her arms around him. She kissed him back, every thought disappearing from her mind. Shivers ran down her spine as his hand roamed over her body, caressing her. In one swift motion he lifted her in his arms, carrying her toward the bedroom, to the bed she had left unmade that morning. Clothing was forgotten, she lay bare before him, exposed. To her own surprise Florence didn't feel self conscious the way she had with Anatoly. Freddie knew everything about her, every inch of her being. His lips parted from hers to travel over her, to everything he had missed for so long. The two became one as their passion enflamed them, building higher and high until it finally burst in a cascade of sensation.

Florence awoke the next morning to find the bedroom bathed in the blue light of the rainy dawn. She still lay entangled in Freddie's arms, her head resting on his chest, listening to the rain patter against the window pane. She raised herself up slowly, taking care not to jostle him. _He always did look so peaceful when he's sleeping_, she thought, _so sweet._ It was as if all the lines and furrows, the fine layer of cynicism melted away while he dreamt; revealing the little boy underneath. Florence traced one finger along the line of his jaw, brushed a few strand of unkempt hair from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open slowly and he smiled drowsily.

"You're still here." He stated, a hint of surprise lingering in his voice.

Florence couldn't help but giggle. "Of course I'm still here. This is my apartment." Freddie glanced around the room.

"Oh. So it is."

He snuggled back up against her, taking her in his arms once more. "Well," Florence said matter-of-factly, "You'd better go check out of your hotel. Because I don't plan on going anywhere any time soon."

By noon Freddie was at the concierge's desk, leaving a message about where to reach him if any calls came in asking for him. Florence opted to wait in the lobby while he went to get his suitcase, lounging in one of the overstuffed leather chairs and flipping through the Times. She was halfway through a rather bland article on the price of airline fare when she heard a disgustingly familiar southern drawl echoing across the room.

"…and I told him, if he wants his money he'll do the interview, no matter what questions y'all want to ask!"

Walter's booming laugh set Florence's stomach turning. She lifted the paper, trying to shield her face, hoping he hadn't seen her. It was too late.

"Well I'll be damned. Florence? Florence Vassy?"

She steeled herself, set her face in an indifferent expression and lowered the paper. "Hello, Walter"

"Why that's not much a greeting now is it? Jesus. How long it's been…a year now hasn't it?"

"Yes I supposed it has."

"What brings you here?"

"I live here, remember?" She retorted sarcastically.

Walter laughed. "Always were a smartass. No I mean what brings you to the Hilton? I don't suppose you live in a hotel?"

"No, sorry. I'm here to…meet a friend."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "A friend eh? This friend wouldn't happen to a certain employee of mine? Someone we are both very familiar with?"

"I don't see who who I'm meeting with is any of your bussiness Walter. I no longer work for you."

"Now don't gtr so testy Flo. I'm just trying to make friendly conversation."

Florence opened her mouth to respond when Freddie appeared behind Walter, confusion and annoyance clearly displayed on his face. Walter spun around to face him.

"Well if it ain't the man of the hour! Frederick, why didn't you tell me Ms. Vassy would be visiting?"

"It must have slipped my mind." Freddie said gaurdedly. He crossed over to Florence, taking her arm. "Since you're here I'll go ahead and tell you. I'll be staying with Florence. You have my beeper number, and the information is with the front desk."

Walter's eyes flicked between the pair, amused. "Right. Well, hope to see y'all tonight." He shot Florence a predatory smile. "Flo."

Florence nodded curtly, allowing Freddie to lead her out of the double doors and onto the street. Her uneasyness at Walter's sudden appearence still gripped her stomach, now combining with fresh anger.

"I'm sorry." Freddie started, "I hadn't figured he'd be in this early-" Florence cut him off, pulling her arm free.

"How can you continue to work for that bastard? After what he did to you, using you like that? After what he did to me?"

He stared at her, an all to familar expression of annoyance spreading across his features.

" You think I like working for him? Think I like being under his fucking thumb all the time?" Freddie's voice was growing steadily louder, causing several pedestrians to glance over quizzically. He checked himself and continued.

" I only do this because I have no where else to go."

He stared down at the street petulantly, like a defeated child. Florence reached out for his arm again and they walked on in silence, both mulling over the choices they had to make.

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